The Lost Islands
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Meadow

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind [any]

I've walked with the kings, and I've marched to the pounding drums



Mashkull is a creature of simple desires. His life has always consisted of the little things - the essentials. Food, water, shelter, and (occasionally) company. He has never been ambitious, he has never dreamed big. The buckskin stallion has kept his hooves firmly on the ground and his head out of the clouds.

But to say he is simple in more degrading terms would be inaccurate. Mashkull does not lack intelligence - far from it actually. He likes to think of himself as a philosopher. An advocate for a minimalistic lifestyle, much like Emerson of the human realm. His reasoning for advocating for a life without ambition, without meaningful drive, is simple.

The less you strive for, the less you have to lose.

He has seen loss. He has seen the suffering his own father endured when he became Icarus flying too close to the sun. The fall is not a pretty one. It is full of pain and regret. Mashkull will not repeat the past. He is content to keep to himself and to keep out of trouble. And so, he wanders through life aimlessly - keeping his head in the grass rather than the clouds. Currently, the buckskin male finds himself wandering through what the locals call "the Meadow". To him, it is just another vast expanse of gently waving luscious green grass.

It is Autumn and the weather is mild. This is the kind of weather Mashkull enjoys the most. It is calm, the skies are clear, and a gentle breeze turns the bountiful meadow grass into a rolling green ocean with soft coaxes. Mashkull wanders the meadow slowly, stopping often to sample the offerings he finds in the long vegetation. His dark mane ripples lazily in the breeze, his tail swishes with equal idleness. In the distance, he sees other vague figures venturing through the area; however, he makes no effort to acquaint himself with the strangers. If one were to make their way to him, he would engage in whatever conversation he finds himself in but, for now, he contents himself with his slow navigation of the viridescent, oceanic meadow.


mashkull
male / 4 / mutt / buckskin [Ee/Aa/nCr] / 16 hh / ro


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